Behind the Wire: An Insider's Reflections on Gitmo

*This is a much revised and updated version of the original May 12, 2009 post.

After having been deployed for six months as a member of the medical team assigned to the detainee population at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, I can easily say that Gitmo is the most hate-filled place I have ever experienced. The animosity I felt in the "camps" on a daily basis was almost palpable, and it often required a very conscious effort to not escalate the hostility.

Because of the powerful emotions involved, it has taken me more than a year to finally identify the key factors that prevented me from previously being able to question the justification of Gitmo. During the six months in which I saw other human beings confined to cages, I began to undertake an intense study of the concepts of liberty and natural rights. Over the course of the year that followed, this investigation led me to the whole-hearted conviction that war is immoral. Amazingly, even after such a distinct transformation, it took still more time to apply my new understanding to my own role in Gitmo.

Honestly, I cannot imagine what the outcome would have been if these beliefs had crystallized while I remained on the island. How could I have coped with the motto, “Honor bound to defend freedom,” while I daily worked in support of restricting others’ liberty? Thankfully, in coming home, the intermittently reinforced pattern of adrenaline, heightened emotions, and hyper-vigilance has subsided. I believe it was only well after this emotional roller coaster had leveled out that I could even begin to understand the meaning of all that I had seen and experienced.

Initially, one of the largest obstacles to evaluating what happened in Gitmo was my own natural instinct to be personally defensive instead of objectively analytical. To this end, I generally maintained a policy of avoidance. For the most part, I wouldn’t talk about my experience unless prompted by others to do so. My wife recently confirmed this as my modus operandi when she told me that she learned more about Gitmo from hearing me talk to others than she ever did from what I volunteered to her at home. Thankfully, this policy of avoiding the issue wasn’t that easy given all the news stories, op-ed pieces, and many people's eagerness to get on a soapbox in conversation.

As a result, I passionately and sometimes heatedly defended the fact that I hadn't tortured anybody. Furthermore, when pressed, I expressed how very unjust I thought it was that I had been expected to serve at the beck and call of "detainees". My talking points on this aspect of Gitmo revolved around the audacity of "detainee" complaints. After all, I had repeatedly brought them medication on their whim, and we had been so careful not to make noise during their "Call to Prayer".

I used to express my outrage at having felt forced to cater to the "detainees" because I had been taught to see them as an enemy that would stop at nothing short of the annihilation of my entire culture. Throughout these conversations, I gave innumerable illustrations of what I felt were the many unjustified actions in favor of the “detainees”. One example was that the “detainees” had complained that the coffee was cold by the time it arrived from the galley. To my chagrin, the guards were given a coffee machine in the camp from which to directly dispense coffee for the “detainees”.

Because the dehumanization that took place was so effective, I was most infuriated by the caged men’s ingratitude for the exceptional services that we provided. Of course, I felt this way despite the fact that I was helping to keep these same men so completely confined that many no longer had the will to live. In stark contrast, I can now at least theoretically understand how insultingly inconsequential such matters as coffee and Advil are in comparison to the isolation the “detainees” experience everyday. How appreciative can you expect someone to be when he is confined to a concrete cell? I think that this is an even more apropos question when the confined person was abducted by individuals who speak a different language and are of a different race, who came to his country armed with true weapons of mass destruction, who kidnapped him for being uncooperative or even resistant, and who all the while claimed they were only doing what was best for him and his neighbors.

For months, even the formation of such a poignant question was impossible for me. Instead, I remained blinded, in part by my dehumanized view of the “detainees”, but also as a result of having an obedience-based understanding of morality. Since then, my study of Philip Zimbardo’s Stanford Prison study, through his book The Lucifer Effect, as well as Stanley Milgram’s shock experiment, as analyzed in The Perils of Obedience, have both provided significant insight into how I became part of such an evil system so easily.

With the understanding I’ve gained from these social psychologists, I no longer see it as surprising that I didn’t question the true dynamics at play in Gitmo. After all, I’d been indoctrinated since childhood to obey authority, and I’d been specifically programmed for more than two years in the Navy to follow orders. Additionally, those in my Chain of Command further subdued any skepticism I had by inducing fear and dehumanizing those involved. This continues to happen through the indistinct labeling of those detained as “deadly enemies” who are collectivized under the heading “detainees” and are only individually referenced by their assigned “Internment Security Numbers”.

In his article, The Perils of Obedience, Stanley Milgram offers an excellent summary of the total effect such factors can have on people in situations similar to Gitmo when he writes, “The most far-reaching consequence is that a person feels responsible to the authority directing him but feels no responsibility for the content of the actions that the authority prescribes.”

This replacement of personal responsibility with the excuse of obedience is why I so adamantly clung to my defense of my role in Gitmo. Even after I accepted that war is immoral, I knew that if I were to admit to myself that I personally had not acted morally, there would be an extremely high price to pay within my own conscience. To try and dispel any lingering doubts, I repeatedly tried to console myself with the fact that I didn’t have a choice since I was following orders, and that even if war is immoral, surely the confinement of criminals doesn’t violate the concept of liberty that I now cherish. Nevertheless, my objective moral analysis of my role in Gitmo has led me to the following three questions that I think should be used to decide this issue once and for all.

1. Are the "detainees" in Gitmo, or anywhere else for that matter, guilty of crimes that merit the past and continuing restriction of their liberty?

2. Are there objective grounds upon which the guilt referenced in the first question has been established? If not, is evidence to this end being sought? Also is it unjust to restrict their liberty whilst the question of their guilt remains unanswered? The previous question references the commonly recognized feature of the American judicial system that the accused are supposed to be considered innocent until proven guilty in a trial. Does such a principle apply to all humanity, or should it only apply to the citizens of a country in which the government enumerates it, as in the United States?

3. The final question is much more subjective; however, I believe it is no less powerful or important to understanding the issue. What would you do if tens of thousands of people, armed with deadly force and from a completely different culture than you, suddenly moved within miles of where you lived, worked, and raised your children?

Having established these three questions as my standard, I admit that I do not have, nor am I aware of anyone having, all the information necessary to determine the guilt or innocence of each person detained in Gitmo. Therefore, I honestly confess that I have no basis on which to claim justification for my actions in continuing the confinement of fellow human beings while I was there.

With what I have related about my experience in Gitmo as context, I encourage you to read the request I have filed with the Navy to be classified as a conscientious objector and discharged. As I state in my application, “Overall, I wish to live my life in accordance with what I believe to be morally right.”


http://coapplication.blogspot.com

Day 9 - Reflections on GTMO

I have no word on the progress of my request.

The good news is that I believe that today's post offers my best explanation of what I believe to be true regarding the question of the justification of both my personal actions, and the overall military operation, at the Detention Center in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.

_________________________

After having spent six months deployed as a member of the medical team assigned to the detainee population at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, I can easily say that GTMO is the most hate-filled place I have ever experienced. The animosity I felt in the "camps" on a daily basis was almost palpable, and it often required a very conscious effort not to escalate the hostility. Almost any other place in the world where sworn enemies are in such close proximity, the aggression leads to death, whereas, in GTMO the hatred just festers.

As I look back more than a year later, I believe it was predominantly these extreme emotional factors that prevented me from being able to more objectively question the justification for GTMO while I was still there. Although it lacks any reference to the complexity of the issues, perhaps the most applicable metaphor is that I couldn't see the forest for the trees. Or in this case, I wasn’t thinking about why all those men were “detained”, when the man in the cage in front of me was screaming obscenities and pounding on the wall.

Honestly, I cannot imagine what the outcome would have been if my beliefs had changed while I remained on the island. How could I have coped with the motto, “honor bound to defend freedom,” while I daily worked in support of restricting others’ liberty? Thankfully, in coming home, the intermittently reinforced pattern of adrenaline, heightened emotions, and hyper-vigilance subsided. Personally, I believe it was only after this that I could begin to question the meaning of all that I saw and experienced.

As I suspect is typical of any shift in a life-long and emotionally charged belief, the largest obstacle for me to overcome was my own natural instinct to be personally defensive instead of objectively analytical. To this end, I think my best defense was simply not talking about my experience unless prompted by others. Thankfully, given all the news stories, op-ed pieces, and many people's eagerness to get on their own personal soapboxes in conversation, there was little possibility of avoiding the topic of what was happening in Guantanamo Bay.

As a result of these promptings, on multiple occasions I passionately and sometimes heatedly defended the fact that I hadn't tortured anybody. Furthermore, when pressed, I expressed how I thought it very unjust that I had to serve at the beck and call of "detainees". My talking points on this specific aspect of GTMO emphasized the audacity of "detainee" complaints. After all, I had to bring them medication on their whim and not make noise during their "Call to Prayer". When home, I expressed my outrage at having felt forced to cater to the very "detainees" that I was taught to believe were the enemy who would stop at nothing short of the annihilation of my entire culture. Throughout these conversations, I gave innumerable illustrations of other matters that I felt were unjustified in favor of the “detainees”. One such example was that the “detainees” had complained that the coffee was cold by the time it arrived from the galley. To my chagrin, the guards were given a coffee machine in the camp from which to directly dispense coffee for the “detainees”.

There is likely no better testimony of the power and influence of the propaganda involved, than that it was the ingratitude of the “detainees” that so infuriated me. In stark contrast, I can now at least theoretically understand how infinitely inconsequential such matters as coffee and Advil are in comparison to the isolation the “detainees” experience everyday. What value are all the medicines in the world if you live in a concrete cell, thousands of miles away from where you were abducted by people of a different race, who came to your country armed with weapons capable of true mass destruction?

Although this is an extremely poignant question, for months I remained too emotionally attached to my personal experiences to even begin to formulate it, let alone entertain it as valid. Instead, I clung to my adamant defense of my role in GTMO, even after I accepted that war is immoral. To me, the reality was that I had personally participated in confining others against their will, and I knew that if I were to admit to myself that I had not done this in support of a just cause, there would be a high price to pay within my conscience. Since coming to that realization, I have repeatedly tried to dispel such doubts by telling myself that even if war is immoral, surely the confinement of criminals doesn’t violate the concept of liberty I have come to cherish.

Nevertheless, my growing skepticism of government, and my critical thinking about GTMO, has led me to the following three questions that I think should be used to decide the issue once and for all.

1. Are the "detainees" in GTMO, or anywhere else for that matter, guilty of crimes that merit the past and continuing restriction of their liberty?

2. Are there objective grounds upon which the guilt referenced in the first question has been established? If not, is evidence to this end being sought, and is it just to restrict their liberty whilst the question of their guilt remains unanswered? The latter question references the commonly recognized feature of the American judicial system that the accused are innocent until proven guilty. Does such a principle apply to all humanity, or should it only apply for the citizens of a country in which the government enumerates it, as in the United States?

3. The final question is much more subjective, and I don't believe it has the practical application value that the previous questions offer; however, I believe it is no less powerful or important to understanding the issue. What would you do if tens of thousands of people, armed with deadly force, and from a completely different culture than yourself, suddenly moved within miles of where you lived, worked, and raised your children?

Having established these three questions as my standard, I admit that I do not have, nor am I aware of anyone having, all the information necessary to determine the guilt or innocence of each detained person. Therefore, I honestly confess that I have no basis on which to claim justification for my personal actions in continuing the confinement of fellow human beings in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.

If you have been interested enough to read this far, I would greatly appreciate your feedback as this is a particularly meaningful post to me. Do you agree with my conclusion? Do you have questions about anything that I referenced? What do you think of the overall military operation in GTMO? What do you think of my personal involvement? Please don't hesitate to leave a comment or to email me by clicking here.

If you haven't read it, my official application to request discharge is linked here.

Day 8 - Question

As is not altogether unexpected, I have no progress to report as regards my request, and in fact I didn't even have a single interaction with either of the Chiefs or anyone else directly involved in the process. That said, I still wanted to share what had me so preoccupied as to not actually make this post last night. In responding to an email that I had sent out to a number of friends and family alerting them of my website, and my request to be discharged, one person wrote back and made the following statement:

"(I) have thought of you often since you enlisted, and wondered at how you, or anyone, could be at Guantanamo and not rebel at the immorality of what was taking place there,"

The implied question made me do a double-take for multiple reasons, and I spent the remainder of my waking night thinking and writing a response. Although there is still more work to be done on my reply, I wanted to at least give a preview of my future post.

In addition, I want to use this post to focus on the significance of the fact that in all my interactions, there has been only one individual who made personal the moral question of my involvement in GTMO. That this is the case, speaks much of the unthinking manner in which so many people acquiesce and accept any action of the U.S. government as justified. Or, at least as is more common in my circles, the automatic acceptance of any military action, even if social and fiscal policy are exempt from this blind approval.

Although the media frequently questions the government's justifications for GTMO, what is unusual, and significant, is that it's so rare for an individual member of the military to be questioned about their personal justification for her or his involvement and actions. After all, what action could the U.S. military take, without the obedience of myriad individual service members?